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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393076">leave a message after the tone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics'>fluffysfics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Intoxication, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, my apologies to ABBA, sly references to punk Master, terrible voicemail messages</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:13:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and the Master get drunk, and flirt, and have some very bad ideas about the TARDIS voicemail.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>leave a message after the tone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inspired by the voicemail scene in Scream of the Shalka, which I would highly recommend watching if you’ve never seen it before, it’s ART</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had started, as the Doctor was sure many <em>very</em> fun decisions she’d made throughout her lives had started, with six bottles of ginger beer, and the Master teasing her about something stupid. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Get drunk with me,” he’d said, plonking the bottles down on her workbench. She’d lifted her welding goggles, and looked between him and the bottles, and given him a very firm <em>no</em>. She’d been busy, after all, making...making something. It had once been several old Earth rotary phones, that was all she could say about it for sure. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Naturally, the Master hadn’t given up that easily. The Doctor hadn’t really expected him to, after several thousand years of <em>not giving up</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Please?” He’d slid one arm around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder, pressing close like he was trying to seduce her. Maybe it had worked a little better than she’d ever willingly admit to him. “You can’t tell me you’d rather spend the evening surrounded by piles of junk than with <em>me</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Is it evening?” She’d been doing her best to ignore how warm he was, flattened against her side. “And- yeah, actually. I can. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between you and a big old room full of rubbish.” Harsh, but entirely <em>fair</em>, she’d felt. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ooh, rude. I <em>like</em> it. Insult me again, Doctor.” The Master had just grinned at her, and the Doctor had swatted at him like one would a particularly annoying fly. He had not budged. Again, predictable, if irritating. “Mind you, if we’re on the subject of piles of rubbish- where’d you pull that outfit from, hm?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oi!” She’d wheeled round, pouting, and her focus on whatever she’d been making had entirely gone out of the window. At which point she had given up, because fuck it, drinking was a vice she hadn’t indulged in much yet this go. The Master was always fun to drink with, if the things they’d gotten up to together in their youth were any indication. And...she liked seeing him in a good mood. It wasn’t all that rare to have him brooding in his room for days, or depressed and desperately in need of emotional support she was only <em>barely</em> capable of giving him. It was nice to see him smile for once. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Which led her to now, curled up in an armchair in the TARDIS library, giggling drunkenly as the Master attempted to sing ABBA’s Dancing Queen. She’d already been treated to a couple songs from the Sex Pistols, and one from Queen- he seemed to have a thing for 1970s music. She’d tease him about it, if she could get a hold of herself for long enough to stop <em>laughing</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>‘Cause you are the dancing queen, young and</em>- ooh, no, that doesn’t work. You’re not young.” The Master flopped down on the sofa he’d been standing on, landing hard. He took a swig from the bottle in his hand. “<em>We’re</em> not young. Neither of us. Old as...as...as <em>fuck</em>,” he said emphatically. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Old as fuck,” the Doctor repeated, nodding her agreement. Oh, that made her head spin. Okay. No more nodding. “Lots of fuck.” She frowned, a stray thought worming its way very reluctantly into her head. “You’re not a half bad singer.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Should hope not. Did a lot of it on Earth.” It was the Master’s turn to frown now. “...Wasn’t gonna tell you that, because I <em>know</em> you were gonna ask for-“</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Pictures! I need pictures. Show me. Now!” The Doctor sat forward, drumming her feet on the floor. The Master closed his eyes, and squinted. Then squinted some more, screwing up his face. She giggled again. It was weird, that. This self didn’t seem very prone to <em>giggling</em>, but everything seemed funny in this state. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Telepathy’s not happenin’,” he mumbled, shrugging. “Too pissed. Ask me later.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor slumped back in her seat, and blew a disappointed raspberry at him. “Boring.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Rude,” he retorted, pointing his now-empty bottle at her. She just grinned. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Being drunk, she decided, was nice. Being drunk with the Master was positively <em>brilliant</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Haven’t been drunk with a companion in here in <em>ages</em>,” she mused, slurring her words somewhat. “Last one was...ooh, I dunno. The Ponds? Miss the Ponds. They were great. There was a swimming pool in here, back then. We had cocktails.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>Ponds</em>,” the Master repeated. “Silly name, Pond.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Right. Like <em>the Master</em> is such a cool and clever name.” The Doctor snorted. “Or O. Harry Saxon. Victor Magister. <em>Colonel Masters</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“John Smith,” the Master retorted, half-heartedly tossing his empty bottle at her. It landed harmlessly on the floor with a dull <em>thunk</em>. “Hey. <em>Hey</em>. I’m not your companion.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Nah, my ship doesn’t like you enough for you to be my companion.” The Doctor beamed, very drunkenly pleased with that comeback. “Well. She didn’t like Clara much at first. But she got over that. Maybe she’ll get over you.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The library lights flashed for a second, the TARDIS making a noise that undoubtedly expressed disapproval. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ouch,” the Master said, sinking further into the sofa. He was sprawled quite impressively over it, one leg dangling over the side, and both arms hanging over one end, above his head. “C’mon, ship, what did I ever do to you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Uh. Paradox machine,” the Doctor pointed out. “You wanna talk rude things, that was <em>very</em> rude. Then there was the whole...Eye of Harmony...thing. She ate you for a bit.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ugh. That was ridiculous. Ridiculous time. Ridiculous body. Didn’t like being a snake. Anyone ever offers you the chance to be a snake, say no,” the Master said, like he was dispensing some very sage advice. The Doctor flopped sideways in her chair, resting her chin on one hand and grinning fondly at him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah. No snakes. Liked <em>my</em> body back then, ‘cept for all the ann...ame...forgetting stuff.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Amneeeesia.” The Master lingered over the vowel sounds, drawing the word out like he was taunting her with his ability to say it. “You were very pretty back then.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Uh-huh. Snogged a lot of my companions in that body. Most of them didn’t mind. Not even the boy ones, and some boy humans are weird about that.” She frowned. “Guess they wouldn’t be <em>now</em>. Odd.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh, there’s snogging involved? Maybe I wouldn’t mind being your companion after all.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oi. Behave.” The Doctor pointed a vaguely threatening finger in his direction. The Master turned his head to look at it, and snapped his teeth like he was going to bite it. He was several feet away, but it still made her jump. He snickered. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I <em>never</em> behave,” he said smugly, as if that was anything to be smug about. Actually, come to think of it, the Doctor spent most of her time being smug about exactly that. Never mind. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You behaved when you were O. Guess that doesn’t count.” She frowned. “Does it count?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Eh.” The Master shrugged, clearly not all that keen to talk about it. Fair. “Tried to <em>call</em> you once or twice as O, y’know. Never worked. Went straight to voicemail.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh. Not surprising, TARDIS is a bit funny about people calling me. Think it’s got something to do with how she’s a phone box on the outside. ‘S sweet of her.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Seems more <em>inconvenient</em>,” the Master started, and then seemed to think better of it. “Anyway. Anyway- d’you know what your voicemail message is?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor shook her head, wondering where this was going, and then wondering why she’d somehow thought shaking her head would make it spin less than nodding. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Master dug his phone out of his pocket, fumbled with it for a minute, and then tossed it to her. She put it to her ear. It rang for a few seconds, and then clicked, and an old, grumpy Scottish voice assaulted her ears. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’ve reached the Doctor. If you have something important to say, do it quickly, before I get bored and delete it. If you don’t, then why are you calling me? Phones are for <em>important</em> things, unless you’re one of my <em>students</em>, in which case they seem to be for- <em>sexting</em>, or sending each other <em>memes</em>- all really very annoying, and ultimately pointless. Go away.” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor blinked. She did <em>not</em> remember recording that. Her last self had been quite fond of deleting things from his memory that he didn’t need, and apparently he hadn’t needed angry voicemails. Huh. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ooh,” she said. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah. Yep. Bad, right?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Mhm. I should change that.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>Yes</em>.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I should change that <em>now</em>.” She grinned. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“<em>No</em>.” The Master half-jumped, half-rolled up out of his seat, bounding shakily over to snatch his phone back out of her hand. “Bad move. You’re really drunk.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So are you,” she retorted, like that made a difference. “And you’re silly when you’re drunk. Don’t need <em>your</em> phone to change the message.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor tipped her head back, addressing the ceiling. “Hey, darling?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You talk to your <em>ship</em> like that?” The Master swayed on his feet and then fell, awkwardly, across her lap. The Doctor snorted. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yeah. Anyway! I want a new voicemail message. On my mobile phone- oh, and on the main TARDIS phone. Probably haven’t changed that in- in- a long time.” Maybe her eighth self had last recorded one? That sounded vaguely familiar. Yes, there was a five minute silent bit at the end of the message because he’d gotten distracted by Charley popping up to show him a funny hat she’d found. He’d been sweet, the Doctor thought fondly. So had Charley. Great team. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Just do it <em>tomorrow</em>, c’mon.” There was some vague flailing of limbs, and then the Master was straddling her lap, looking at her beseechingly. And drunkenly. He was cute. The Doctor reached out, smiling innocently, and bopped him on the end of the nose.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Nope. Start recording, please!” The lights in the library flashed obediently. The Master groaned, and pitched forward until his face was smushed against the side of her neck. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You’ve reached the TARDIS. Or me. The Doctor. Same thing, usually- <em>ah</em>!” The Doctor yelped with surprise as the Master’s <em>teeth</em> found her skin. He hadn’t even bitten particularly hard, but maybe that was worse, because suddenly her head was spinning with a drunken kind of heat, and she found herself tempted to tip her head back and order him to do it again. She blinked, determined to soldier on with the voicemail message. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’m not paying attention to my phone right now, so-“ She broke off into giggles, and then a slightly more <em>strangled</em> sort of noise, as the Master’s tongue traced the spot he’d just bitten. “So. Leave a message, make it fun, I <em>like</em> fun, fun’s gr—“</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I am <em>begging</em> you to stop,” the Master murmured, lifting his head and starting to press kisses along her jawline. Oh. Oh, that was very, very distracting. The Doctor tipped her head back, closing her eyes- no! Come on, she had a message to finish. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Fun’s great,” she continued, somewhat shakily. “Or text me. I check my texts more often. Usually- mmph!” The Master’s lips found hers, and the Doctor was finding suddenly that she wasn’t particularly inclined to stop him kissing her. She lifted her hands to tangle in his hair, and felt a smug smirk pull at his mouth where it was pressed against hers. Oh. Right. Voicemail. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She broke away, breathing hard. “Anyway. Leave a message! I’ll get back to you. Maybe before you called, if-“ The Master pressed one of his legs in between hers, ducking back down to kiss her neck, and the Doctor had to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a <em>very</em> lewd noise from appearing on the message. “Okay. Yeah. Stop that now- the recording, not <em>that</em>, that’s perfect- do it again...” </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The lights in the library dimmed again, and the TARDIS made a faint noise that the Doctor was currently having far too much fun to try and decipher. She skimmed her hands down the Master’s back, pulled on his hair, suddenly an awful lot more keen to encourage him to keep doing whatever he’d been doing and to <em>not stop</em>. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>To his credit, for once in his life, he did do <em>exactly</em> as she‘d asked of him. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>——</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Okay. Yeah. Stop that now- the recording, not—“ </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Doctor’s voicemail message cut off with a long beep, and she was left staring at her console, decidedly red in the face. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Master was loving it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him grin quite so widely. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’m changing it,” she said immediately. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You <em>have</em> to keep it,” the Master said, at exactly the same time. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She pouted at him. He pouted back. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I’ll keep it for a week,” the Doctor said, folding her arms. “Hopefully it’s a week where people decide texting is more fun than calling.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The Master stepped closer, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her into a kiss. She let him, draping her own arms around his neck to toy with the back of his hair. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I guess <em>now</em> the question is- how long after one week can I keep you distracted before you remember to change it?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oi!” The Doctor tugged on the hair she’d been playing with, and the Master’s eyes just flashed with a very pleased sort of mischief. Oh, he was far too hard to stay annoyed at when he was this close to her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe the message might end up staying longer than a week. The Master was very good at distracting her. </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But, really...that wasn’t the sort of thing she could ever bring herself to complain about, was it?</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are appreciated very much &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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